


Ticking With Impatience

by voleuse



Category: Firefly
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-08-26
Updated: 2005-08-26
Packaged: 2017-10-04 10:28:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voleuse/pseuds/voleuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Watch for anything missed</em>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ticking With Impatience

**Author's Note:**

> No spoilers. Title and summary adapted from Craig Raine's _A Martian Sends a Postcard Home_.

One morning, Wash sneezes.

It's nothing unusual, nothing he'd worry about, but then he sneezes again, three times in quick succession.

Zoe turns over in bed, stares at him. "You okay?"

Wash breathes deep, and the back of his throat itches.

"Fine," he rasps. "Just fine."

*

 

"I can't be sick," Wash explains to Simon. "I hate being sick. This could actually kill me."

"As I said earlier," Simon places his stethoscope back in its case, "it's just a cold. You'll be back on your feet in a few days."

"You're holding out on me, Doc." Wash snuffles, blows his nose. "Core planets've got everything. Don't you have a shot that'll fix me?"

"With our current supplies, I can only treat the symptoms." Simon hands Wash a packet of tea leaves. "This should help your throat. Otherwise, just get plenty of rest."

"Rest. Sleep." Wash clutches the tea to his chest. "Sleep sounds good."

"Also, it might be best if you let the captain take the helm for a while."

At that, Wash scowls. "What? I'm fine. I can fly." Then he's hit with another sneezing fit, and the tea leaves scatter across the floor.

Simon sighs.

Wash blinks slowly, twice. "I see your point."

*

 

Somewhere in the midst of the fourth nap and the fifth, Wash hears the doctor and Zoe talking.

"He doesn't get sick very much," Zoe murmurs. Then, "He's been in and out."

Something cool presses against Wash's tongue, and he groans a protest.

Finally, it goes away, and Simon hums. "He's running a slight fever. Nothing unusual."

"You sure?" Zoe sounds worried, and Wash stretches out an arm to her, hits the wall by mistake.

A hand presses against Wash's forehead, not Zoe's. "We could all benefit from a few more fruits and vegetables, I think."

"All right." Then it's Zoe's hand on his shoulder. "Wash, baby? I'll make you some soup, okay?"

"Soup." Wash smiles at the ceiling. "Yeah."

Zoe presses her lips against his forehead, and he blinks, and she's gone.

"Doc?" Wash turns his head.

Simon's still there, rummaging in his kit. "Yes?"

"Zoe's making me soup," Wash tells him. "She's good at making soup."

Simon smiles. "I'm sure she is."

"Food of the gods," Wash rhapsodizes. "I mean, a little salty. But otherwise, ambrosia. Salty ambrosia."

"That's...poetic." Simon shuts his bag, moves as if to leave.

"You should have some," Wash says. "Stick around."

"You don't have to," Simon begins, "I mean, I don't mean to--"

"Ambrosia," Wash says again, and waves his arm for emphasis. "Sit."

Simon seats himself on a nearby chair. "If you insist."

"Yeah," Wash replies, and then he's falling asleep.

*

 

When Wash wakes up, Zoe's there with a bowl of soup, and Simon's still poised in his chair.

Zoe hands Simon a mug, steaming and savory. "Doctor."

"Oh." Simon looks surprised. "Thank you."

Zoe presses a spoon into Wash's hand, but he waits until Simon has taken a sip of the broth.

"This is..." Simon takes another careful gulp, licks his lips. "This is excellent, Zoe."

"Told you," Wash crows, and Zoe kisses him on the cheek.


End file.
